


Killer Queen

by Fanny Quicksilver (ImpudentGuttersnipe), ImpudentGuttersnipe, MacandLacy



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV), Queen (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Brian is Giles with long hair, Buffy the Vampire Slayer crossover, Crack Treated Seriously, F/M, Freddie is good backup, Gen, Humor, John is seriously Rogerina's favorite, John makes weapons out of thin air, M/M, Mild Language, Minor Violence, Rogerina the Vampire Slayer, Spike - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-07
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-23 19:32:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17689511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImpudentGuttersnipe/pseuds/Fanny%20Quicksilver, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImpudentGuttersnipe/pseuds/ImpudentGuttersnipe, https://archiveofourown.org/users/MacandLacy/pseuds/MacandLacy
Summary: Rogerina is the Vampire Slayer.  Crossover with "Buffy the Vampire Slayer"Now a series co-written by MacandLacy and ImpudentGuttersnipe.**RATINGS AND WARNINGS WILL VARY**  Please check each chapter :-)





	1. No one messes with.....

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BrooklynBugleBoy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrooklynBugleBoy/gifts), [americanithink](https://archiveofourown.org/users/americanithink/gifts), [ImpudentGuttersnipe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImpudentGuttersnipe/gifts).



> This is a Gift fic for BrooklynBugleBoy who so kindly allowed me to bounce off their AMAZING story “I Surrender”, and for Americanithink as theirs was the first Rogerina story I ever read :-) Please check out their "Taylor Twins" series! And all thanks to ImpudentGuttersnipe for inspiration and future collaboration.
> 
> Modern time setting. Queen is a very famous band.
> 
> Now a series co-written by MacandLacy and ImpudentGuttersnipe.
> 
> **RATINGS AND WARNINGS WILL VARY** Please check each chapter :-)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No one messed with Rogerina's brothers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: Teen and Up. Minor language.

No one messed with Rogerina Meadows Taylor.

Most agreed it was an oblivious conclusion because of the security at venues. Not to be sexist, but in the crazy world of Rock and Roll, a female needed more security than even the male artists. Rogerina was always surrounded by security when on tour or at a press conference.

Others said it was obvious because of the way her three male bandmates treated her. At least one of them was always beside her at backstage or at parties, often with a firm arm around her waist, keeping her close to them. Most online chat found it “cute” and “protective’, although there were some (female and male) who were profoundly jealous of it.

Now and then, some ridiculous person would put out an insane claim that what you saw was totally wrong. Sometimes it was someone who claimed to known the band when they were still in college, playing at bars. Sometimes a person who claimed they had been at an after-show party would post some absurd lie, obviously a pathetic cry for attention. And of course, general gossip that no one believed.

No one doubted that Ms. Taylor was a strong, smart, capable woman, and didn’t need a MALE to take care of her, but still…..unless she had some secret 3rd degree black belt that no one knew of, or a totally illegal handgun, well….yeah…..she needed more protection than her towering bandmates. She was just so….feminine. Strong and obviously capable and didn’t put up with any crap, but still, always smiling, happy and upbeat at press conferences, and usually quite polite in public (no one believed occasional rumors); not a single sign that she was a bitch (again, an unfortunate stereotype…why was is that men who yelled and drank and got into fights were “manly men” but a woman was a “bitch” if she did the same?)

But anyway, no one messed with Rogerina Meadows Taylor. She had security and three “big bothers” (as she so proudly described them in interviews). She was protected.

God, if they only knew the truth.

The security was there to protect *fans* who might say or do something….and not to Rogerina. The guys in the band were always around her when on tour to keep her *in line*….not to protect her.

The reality was that no one messed with Rogerina Meadows Taylor’s BROTHERS. She honestly *was* nice and polite 90% of the time....it was just when someone messed with one of her brothers that the real killer queen came out. And she was always ready to protect her brothers. Don't mess with them, was her daily mantra.

*****  
*****

Freddie Part One:

The first time had been when they were first starting out as a band. They had just finished played a college pub. Of all the places where you thought folks would be more open-minded and accepting, some drunk moron started in on Freddie and simply would not stop. Rogerina would later snarl to Brian and John that she had been the picture of saintly forgiveness for the entire show, but when the moron followed them out while they were packing the van, that had simply crossed a line.

“Hey, terrorist. Why don’t you go shag a camel?” the man hurled at Freddie.

The next thing he knew, the man had something in his big mouth: a cymbal. Then he had one of Rogerina’s stiletto heels in his groin while she was shoving the cymbal further down his throat and preparing to tear him to shreds.

“He’s not worth it, darling”” Freddie assured her calmly, as he finished the packing.

“You’re worth it,” she hissed.

In a practiced move, Freddie and John tossed Rogerina in the back of the van and Brian (the one with the most sheer body mass and weight) held her down. Brian suspected privately that Rogerina could take him if she really wanted to, but he always bet that she wouldn’t hurt him. It might bite him in the ass one day, but he was pretty sure she wouldn’t cause him any lasting harm, at least to his hands.

***

Freddie Part Two:

Seven minutes in Heaven.

It had somehow become a popular internet topic; the idea of locking yourself in a closet with a person for seven minutes and according to urban legend, what happened in the closet *stayed* in the closet.

Yeah, it stayed.

Because Rogerina went into very explicit detail about what she would do to this guy if he said anything negative about Freddie again. She had prepared diagrams, but ultimately decided that that light bulb (and the guy) was too dim, and that she was really more of a hands-on teacher, so she had given the idiot a very physical lesson of what would happen.

“You didn’t actually break anything this time, did you?” Freddie asked when she came back to the living room, looking very satisfied.

Rogerina batted her big blue eyes at him, thinking. “No……?” she finally ventured.

“Close enough.” Freddie poured her a beer as a reward. “But darling, just once, I would like a shot at them before you scare them away. Let me try to seduce them – you know I adore a challenge - instead of you killing them. Deal?”

The made a fist-bump on the agreement.

*****  
*****

Deaky Part One:

Well, in the first place, you simply didn’t get Rogerina even *started* with Deaky. John was kind, sweet, caring, thoughtful, sensitive…maybe even just a touch “fragile”….; all the qualities that Rogerina knew that she lacked, and therefore needed to support Deaky in. When some jackass so-called music editor wrote that while the bassist was “adequate”, he “lacked any stage presence what-so-ever”, Rogerina knew it was time to take a stand.

Rogerina showed up at the newspaper’s offices the next day, and asked ever so politely to have a private meeting with the author. Eager for a scoop, the moron writer had agreed. Once they were in a closed room with the shades drawn (she wasn’t an idiot….she knew there couldn’t be witnesses), Rogerina cut loose.

After she swept all the papers and computers off the table and broke six of the man’s fingers and let him know in no uncertain terms what she thought of his writing, Rogerina left, but only after promising that if there was ever another unflattering comment about her bassist again, she would return and castrate him with a butter knife; if he was lucky. If she didn’t care about her manicure, she would do it with her fingers.

The writer was left whimpering in hope that Rogerina would had just had her nails done, and would indeed care about her fresh manicure.

Deaky had nothing but glowing reviews from that newspaper again. The bassist was smart and suspected the reason. Because he was so smart, he didn’t ever bring it up. He didn’t have a damn death wish.

***

Deaky Part Two:

They were absolute and totally opposites (except when it came to music), and that is what made Rogerina even more protective of John. She had literally had her teeth knocked out of her for being just who she was. Damn if she was going to let Deaky be crucified for it. Deaky was everything in the world that she needed to protect.

Rogerina went so far as to teach John some down and dirty, hard-core, street fighting. It wasn’t a skill that she shared with just anyone, but Deaky was special. And she couldn’t be around him 24/7, as much as she tried. He might need to know the tricks of the trade someday, damn it. There were crazy people in the world, after all.

She didn’t doubt his smarts or her teaching, but still, thank God she had been around when some total creeps went after John.

They were at one of Freddie’s extravagant parties, and the number one rule was that no one messed with anyone without very vocal, public, and repeated informed and coherent consent. The number two rule was that no one messed with John. Some damn friend of a friend of a friend had gotten past security, and made a beeline for Deaky, assuming that he was the soft target. Before he could get too close, Deaky simply shot out his left arm and perfectly clotheslined the jerk, making him fall to the floor with a punch to his jaw. It looked like an accident to everyone else, but Rogerina had taught John that trick just a few days earlier and he had executed it perfectly.

Rogeria was so proud, she about hugged the stuffing out of the bassist.

“Awww, my babies first fight bruises,” she cooed, checking John’s hand because they had a show in two nights and she needed to know if ice was needed now or could wait until later. It was the finer details that she was still instructing John on.

“Yes, well, don’t get too proud, dear. Look behind you.”

Rogerina turned and saw two strutting jerks, both of them SO obviously not interested in her, but in John. That in and of itself would not be an issue, except she knew that John was not interested, and that these two creeps had nothing good on their minds regarding the brunet bassist. So, time for some Deaky duty. She honestly would try talking first, but if that failed, she always had options, such as the chairs and tables….and ohhhhhh…..chopsticks. Perfect. She was honestly touched at Freddie’s thoughtfulness of providing such nice cutlery.

She smiled, and plucked two metal chopsticks out of the display before placing herself between the idiots and John. She didn’t want to make a scene at Freddie’s party and ruin the night, so she would be discrete and drag them outside to bury their asses.

Deaky just sipped his drink and had some very nice chats with some lovely people.

*****  
*****

Brian Part One:

To be fair, not too many people messed with Brian in person. Mostly because of his sheer size, but also because he simply didn’t give a damn, and it was usually clear to even the densest that they could say whatever they wanted to the guitarist, and as long as they didn’t involve bandmates, friends, or family, Brian would take it with a smile. He was usually quite perfectly happy with things.

Rogerina more than made up for his non-violent, pacifist ways.

“F- you!!” she snarled at a caterer, the poor man backed up against the wall. “Look at this sandwich, and tell me right here, right now, that there isn’t fucking chicken in it. Tell me, you piece of crap!” She had the sandwich in one hand, and the other hand firmly wrapped around the man’s throat.

“Darling, it’s really alright. I never eat what I’m not positive about,” Brain tried to interject. He cut off and backed away when Rogerina growled at him. “But by all means, I do appreciate your solidarity.” Brian was profoundly intelligent and knew when to back away. He made himself more than content with the veggies and fruit while Rogerina found the head of catering and tried to tear his head off. She may have succeeded if Brian and his damn non-violent, pacifist ways hadn’t made him seek her out in the kitchen and drag her away.

***

Brian Part Two:

Few people messed with Brian in person. But every now and then some five foot something would set out to prove something. What they didn’t reckon with was being met with the sheer force that was five foot *everything* Rogerina.

“We really love it here,” Brian said cheerfully to the hotel manager. ”So very peaceful, and we really appreciate everything.” His words would have likely meant much more if Rogerina wasn’t currently wrapped up in both his arms, screaming at the man who had insulted Queen in general and Brain in specific by shouting that the guitarist was a mutant giant wuss who probably took it in the butt from everyone in the band, including the chick.

“Bet you don’t have the balls to say that to my face.” Rogerina yelled at the man who was currently running away.

“Can you please tell me what the pool hours are?” Brian asked the manager.

“So I can drown you in it, you twit!”

“And by chance is there an observatory or museum nearby?”

“So I can shove the telescope up your---”

On cue, Brian unleashed Rogerina, getting the signal from Freddie and John that the idiot in question had a sporting chance of being far enough away to escape the wrath of Rogerina.

Damn. Brian winched when the idiot tripped over his own feet, giving Rogerina more than enough time to catch him. “I am ever so sorry, but if you can excuse me, I need to help prevent a homicide.” He, Freddie, and John made their way out to the garden and only stopped Rogerina from bashing in the idiot’s face. They had given him a fair chance, after all; it wasn’t their fault he had tripped over his own feet.

*****  
*****

So, yeah. No one messed with Rogerina Meadows Taylor’s brothers. Fate had saddled her with three idiot men to take care of, but she just had to suck it up and deal with it. Family was family.


	2. In the beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The origins of the Killer Queen. Deaky just rolls with it. Brian has a lot to study. Freddie is....Freddie.
> 
> Rating Teen and Up. Minor language.

“So you kill vampires.”

“And other demons as necessary.”

“And you,” Freddie turned to Brian. “Are her unofficial…what did you call it…Watcher?”

“Unofficial my ass,’ Rogerina sneered. “He’s my Watcher. Plain and simple.”

“I am a bit young for it,” Brian admitted modestly. “I tried to deny it, to make the science come first. But well, it just sort of…..came to me.”

“And no one else is daft enough to take me on,” Rogerina said. “So here we are, package deal.”

John had been very quiet but just because he was quiet didn’t mean that he wasn’t light-years ahead in thinking. “I’m okay with it,” he said. At Freddie’s look, he just shrugged. “Package deal,” he agreed. He looked back to Rogerina. “I assume you took up drums because of….” He gestured to the pile of dust that was currently in the doorway, one of Rogerina’s solid wood drumsticks visible in the middle of the heap.

Rogerina wanted to hug the brunet bassist. He might turn out to be her favorite member of the band. And no offense, but she could already tell that he needed looking after.  
In answer to his question, Rogerina twirled another drumstick and sent it flying. It landed embedded in the wall exactly one inch from John’s amp. The young man didn’t even blink. “Okay,” he simply said, and went back to turning his bass.  
Rogerina and Brian hadn’t planned to revel their secrets to Freddie and John that night; they had both been hoping for a little more time. They had only been playing as a group for a couple of weeks, after all. But when a vampire showed up at the flat and idiot Freddie let him in, Rogerina just figured it was a good thing that she was there.

“Slayers get activated for different reasons,” Brian was explaining to Freddie and John. “We figure Rog and I were paired up so young because of the band.”

“It’s because certain idiots just attract demons,” Rogerina countered. She glared meaningfully at Freddie. The singer just looked thoughtful.

“So when that chap said he wanted to suck---”

Brian and John made gaging noises while Rogerina threw a bracelet at Freddie, carefully checking her strength so it just bounced off his thick skull.

“Hey,” the singer protested mildly. He picked up the bracelet. “Silver works too, you know.”

Rogerina shrugged. “I’m old-fashioned. I like wood,” she said. She regretted the words the moment they came out of her mouth, seeing Freddie’s eyes light up.

“Excuse me,” Deaky looked up from his base. “Are we going to actually practice or just toss around innuendo all night?”

While Brian and Freddie bickered, Rogerina went to retrieve her drumstick from the wall. “Are you really okay this?” She asked John softy. “It’s a lot to take in.”

The brunet shrugged. “Okay that there really are demons and vampires in the world? Nope, that bit totally creeps me out. But I am okay with you being a slayer. And it does explain quite a lot.”

“Oh? Like what?”

John looked up at her through his bangs, and she could see the glint of humor in his eyes. “Homicidal tendencies,” he said, and while his words were outwardly dry and calm, she could hear the laughter underneath. “I did sort of wonder why a perfectly nice chap like Brian was hanging out with a socio---” he stopped when Rogerina got into his space, one blond eyebrow raised in challenge, but like John, she was smiling. “such a sweet, kind, thoughtful, innocent, delicate, girl like you,” he concluded without missing a beat.

Rogerina laughed and gave him a quick hug. Yep, he was likely going to be her favorite.

After that, the band came together both musically and as a family whose extra special hobby was taking care of the undead. John had Rogerina come to his parent’s house for dinner the next week, and while it was outwardly to introduce her to the family as his *bandmate* and not as a girlfriend (to his Mum’s great disappointment), it was also so she could check out some suspicious activity at the neighbors that had always made John a little bit on edge. Rogerina took care of the demon, and when John got his hands dirty helping dig the grave, she knew that not only had she found her perfect rhythm section partner, but she also had a real partner in the clean up section. Brian tended to get a bit queasy with blood, and Freddie would bitch for hours if his manicure got ruined.


	3. Misunderstood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just another day in the life....pity the poor guy who overhears things....
> 
> Rating Mature for Immuendo and some language.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Innuendo. My sincere apologies if anyone finds this to be in poor taste. Please be assured that everyone and everything is alright, and please read the end notes.

“Strip.”

The facility managers head shot up, shocked at what he was hearing. He was just doing what he had been assigned to do: wait for the band to come out of the dressing room after a rehearsal and then escort them to the waiting limo. He had never once in his life thought he would hear something like this. He glanced around and cursed that he was the only one nearby.

“Ah, come on, guys. Seriously?” That was the woman…Rogerina, was her name, the manager thought. It was really cool to have a female drummer in a rock band, and he had been hoping to get her autograph or picture for his daughters, who worshiped her. He had always heard she was such a “strong, positive role-model” for girls. But….did she need…..help??

“You heard us, darling,” said another male voice, and there was no mistaking the voice of Freddie Mercury. He sounded rather cross.

“Come on Rogerina, stop wasting time.” A third male voice. Good Lord, the three male members of the band Queen were telling the woman to…..

“Everything off. Now!” Freddie said.

The poor manager was sweating. What did he do? His hand was on the door knob, ready to at least knock or burst in if necessary when Rogerina spoke again.

“Fine, alright, you wusses.” Rogerina sounded pissed, but after a second there was some rusting noises.

The manager took a few steps back, horrified. What the Hell was going on behind that closed door?

What the manager couldn’t hear was Brian trying to be reasonable in his usual soft-spoken voice that now didn’t carry beyond the door. “Metal detectors at the hotel, darling. We know you have a stash in the limo and at the hotel, so just consider it being an extra stash here, alright? We’ll get everything back after the show tonight.”

“Tossers.” Rogerina muttered, but she complied. It was really just a minor annoyance, after all. It wasn’t as if she really needed this stuff; she could improvise just fine, thank you very much. But some of it had sentimental value. At least she trusted she would get it back after the show. The guys knew to not mess with her stuff in that regard.

Thirty seconds later, a fully-dressed Rogerina Meadows Taylor stepped out the dressing room, her blue eyes lighting up when she spotted the facilities manager. ‘Oh, hi! Mark, right?” The manager gulped and nodded, looking her up and down rapidly. She was dressed, nothing looking out of place, seemed fine….

“Didn’t you say mention that you had daughters? I would love to take a pic with you for them.” Rogerina gestured to the dressing room. “These idiot guys will be a few more minutes, sorry.”

Rogerina happily took the managers phone and posed with him for a few selfies. She also chatted to him about how important it was for everyone to know basic self-defense, and not put up with anyone’s crap. She then sent a few very nice notes to his daughters via his email, and posted on her social media a picture of her and the manager, saying he was the “coolest guy she had yet met” on the tour and that she had invited him to bring his daughters to the show tonight.

While Rogerina chatted up the facilities manager, the boys were busy in the dressing room.

“Jesus, an honest to God sword?” John muttered, hiding the weapon in the closet.

Brain raised a pale eyebrow at their bassist. “She always carries that when she wears a long top,” he pointed out. “Makes sense, really.”

Freddie was admiring the jeweled hilt of a dagger as he wrapped it in one of his scarves. “Wonder if I could borrow this?” he mussed. “It would nicely compliment what I was planning to wear tonight.”

“She might, if you ask politely,” John said idly, as he stashed more knives in the fake amp they always carried around. “You know she loves to have stuff available. Just don’t be a dolt and put up a fight on stage if she wants it during the show.”

“I don’t have a death wish, Deaky,” Freddie agreed. “Oh, really, a handgun? And here it’s not even 3:00pm yet. Someone obviously got out of the wrong side of bed this morning.”

Freddie hid the gun in a fake microphone while Brian frowned in distaste. Brian and Rogerina had a mutual understanding pact about the issue of guns in that they had agreed to disagree and Rogerina never asked or expected the tall guitarist to handle one. Freddie and John didn’t like guns either, but were willing to handle them when absolutely necessary. They had provided backup on more than one occasion, reloading for their drummer. Rogerina had insisted that Freddie and John at least learn how to load the weapon; for Brian, she let the issue of guns totally slide. He was so understanding about so many other things that Rogerina knew she had to respect his beliefs in this area.

“Alright, cross check,” Brian said, keeping an eye on Rogerina through the open door. She had the managers back to the dressing room, in keeping with their standard procedure. “Hair, neck, shoulders?”

“Clear; no surprises this time.” How Rogerina had managed to get a switchblade in her ponytail was still a mystery to all. “I let the sharpened barrettes and jewelry slide as usual; we can explain them off easily enough,” Deaky reported.

“Chest?”

“Perfectly *fine*,” Freddie leered in agreement. Brian mentally slapped the singer. But he had to give Freddie credit due for being the only one of the three men brave enough to confront Rogerina about that…er….location….of her person. Not that any of them ever laid a finger on her, of course; they had assigned areas that they called out and Rogerina would hand over anything she knew they wouldn’t approve of or couldn’t explain away. But it took still took lots of nerve to simply say the word “chest” to her and look at that area expectantly.

“Back clear, waist clear,” Brian said aloud, listing his areas. When there was a gun in those vectors, Freddie took over as Brian simply refused to touch such a weapon. “Arms?”

“Clear,” Freddie reported. Again, he knew that the jewelry could be explained away.

“Legs?”

“Clear,” Deaky said, sliding an extra-long knife into his spare fake bass case.

“Shoes?” That was Brian’s area, and he hadn’t suspected anything this round, but this was a tricky area and he was never too proud to ask for backup, especially depending on the shoes that Rogerina was sporting that day.

All three men looked over at Rogerina. “Stilettos. We can explain off whatever is inside them,” Freddie said confidentially. “I’m wearing a pair myself, after all.” Brian had more than once pulled a blade from a trainer and knew that stilettos - while deadly in and of themselves - what could be inside them (knife, nails, etc…) were overlooked as just part of the heel. “Provided,” Freddie reluctantly conceded, “that it isn’t explosive.”

“Check in limo,” Deaky sighed, pulling out the personal device he had devised that scanned for explosive residue. It was not likely needed for the hotel detector, but then one could never be too careful.

“Good to go?” Brian asked. There were affirmative replies from Freddie and John. “Alright, lads, assemble on Killer Queen Bee.”

That night, the managers pre-teen daughters were beyond thrilled to meet their idol Rogerina and the entire band before they went on stage. The manager firmly convinced himself that he had totally misunderstood something and never spoke of it to anyone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Personally, I would barge into that dressing room if I overheard what the manager did in the first part of the chapter, and I truthfully pray that everyone would :-) Take care of each other, folks!


	4. Teamwork

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brian is the brains. John is the magician. Freddie is backup. Rogerina just wants a good workout. Brian and John have their minds in the gutter.
> 
> Rating Teen and up. Minor language and violence.

Just as they had come together as a band, they came together with their other group activity.

Brian was the brains, always doing research and up-to-date on any local “critters” they might encounter on a tour. Rogerina sometimes worried that he was a little too delicate for this lifestyle, but that was before she saw him set a snare for a demon with an extra B string from his beloved Red Special. True, he had to get his nose out of an astronomy book to do it, and he stepped away once it was caught, but he always had her back with information and tossing weaponry. He could list 20 ways to kill any particular demon and always had the supplies on hand; he just didn’t have the heart to do the actual need unless absolutely necessary. Rogerina respected his boundaries and his general pacifist ways. He hadn’t asked to be born a Watcher.

John was great at logistics and designing new weaponry. Brian and Freddie both had chewed out the bassist for an hour straight when they came across him helping Rogerina figure out how to break down a crossbow so they could get it through airport security. That hadn’t stopped him, though, from completing his design. He also did lovely work with tasers and had once electrocuted three vampires with two AA batteries and a half a bottle of vodka on stage, making it look like a pyrotechnics display. He was the “quiet” one in the band, but his mind was always on alert. Honestly, he was Rogerina’s favorite.

Freddie could spot a demon a mile away and when he wasn’t flirting with them (or sleeping with the good-hearted ones – not all “demons” were evil), he had no issues luring in the bad guys. But that wasn’t his best asset. He was backup.

It occasionally came up in interviews that Freddie had boxed when he was in school. He was always modest about it, saying that he hadn’t done it in years and had never been good at it anyway, but the band knew the truth. He could have been a ranked world class mixed marital artist and he was Rogerina’s physical backup while Brian yelled info and tossed supplies, and John rigged explosions, created weaponry out of thin air, and caused general havoc.

The first hint of Freddie’s true prowess had been when Rogerina turned away from dispatching a seriously fugly demon during a pub crawl/brawl, ready to take on the next one, only to find that Freddie had already broken both its necks.

“Wow….good job,” she said, honestly impressed.

Freddie just waved it away. “Brian, how do you get this demon’s blood out of clothes?” he demanded. Brian started scrolling through notes on his iPad, asking for clarification about the difference between cotton and satin.

Then there was the time when Rogerina had a seriously bad head cold, was going through her second box of tissues of the day, and really *so* didn’t feel up to a fight. Besides, her depth perception and aim was a bit off due to the cold medicine. Freddie stepped up and with one stab from one of his giant rings, the vampire was dust.

“Silver does work,” was all he humbly said.

“Are you sure you’re not a slayer or hunter?” Rorerina had to finally ask him one night as they vacuumed up after a demon that Freddie had lured into the recording studio. Brain was making notes about how Freddie had shredded it with a hairclip and microphone wire, and John was experimenting with amp voltage.

The singer wrinkled his nose. “Maybe, in another life,” he conceded. “But really, darling, I don’t feel the need to take lead on this. Not with you to take care of everyone. I’m content to be your backup.”

But that didn’t stop Rogerina from making him her sparring partner. Every chance they got, they headed off to a private gym for a workout.

“Ah, come on sweetie, I won’t hurt you,” she cooed. Damn, he was sort of her brother and all, but Rogerina was never one to not recognize quality merchandise when she saw it, and she knew Freddie was not just a vocal presence to be reckoned with; he was also fit as Hell. Okay, mental slap. She meant that he could hold his own in a fight.

“Really, darling. Cut loose? Go all out?” Rogerina had suggested that they figuratively and literally take off the gloves in the gym that night and have themselves a real fight to test each other’s true strength. Freddie looked intrigued at the prospect.

“No weapons. Hand to hand. I’ll go easy on you if you really like,” Rogerina promised, putting all her weapons, even her lucky drum stick, into a neat pile.

“Oh, please don’t.” Damn, she had to give Freddie credit; he was wearing more jewelry than she was and every bit of it could be useful in a brawl. He stripped to his shorts, Rogerina kept on only her own shorts and sports bra, they took off their shoes, and started to circle each other.

“Are you sure, darling?” Freddie said, dodging a punch.

“Afraid you’ll lose?” Rogerina flirted back.

Freddie kicked her in the knee. “Just keep my pretty face off limits, love, and I’ll do the same.”

Things got a bit wild after that. Rogerina had strength, but Freddie had skill. Every time she thought for sure she was going to make contact, Freddie simply wasn’t here; he had dogged. She landed a few good blows, sure, but Freddie gave as good as he got. And he was such the drama queen; the one time she thought she had really hurt him and she was hunched over him, asking if he was okay, he suddenly grabbed her arms to put her in a choke hold, and they had a really good roll on the mats. In a strictly fighting manner, of course.

When John and Brian found them (sweaty, panting, tangled up; Freddie had ahold of the back of Rogerina’s sports bra and Rogerina was clutching the waistband of Freddie’s shorts….purely for fighting purposes), there were attempted explanations that neither of the other men believed. John thought they were having hate sex, and had disturbing dreams for weeks. When asked in an interview to describe the dynamics of the group, Brian said that Freddie and Rogerina were “good mats….er…. I mean,, mates. Uh…. I mean… friends!”

Freddie and Rogerina went out of their way to fuel rumors of a secret hot love affair between them for a while just because it was so damn cute to see John and Brian blush.

Rogerina slept a bit better at night knowing that Freddie had her back.


	5. Rogerina's Rules for Dating my Brothers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just what is says. Rules, plain and simple.
> 
> Rating Teen and up. Some language and *lots* of threats of violence (but nothing actually happens)

Part One: Freddie

Rule #1: Must love cats.

Rule #2: Eh, whatever. He can pretty much take care of himself. But if you break his heart, I will break your everything.

*****  
*****

Part Two: Brian

Rule #1. You must be a least 5’8’’ (he’s a bitch when he has a crick in his neck).

Rule #2: As you wait for my guitarist/Watcher to appear, you may not fidget, sigh, or look at a clock. My guitarist/Watcher is fixing his hair, which takes longer than the changing of the guard.

Rule #3: If you look or act like trash, I will make you go away.

Rule #4: If I don’t like you, I will make you go away.

Rule #5: Understand that I have a unique skill set to make you go away.

Rule #6: You are now a vegetarian. Better yet, go vegan.

*****  
*****

Part Three: John

Rule #1: I need letters of reference from your parents, teachers, and priest/minister/spiritual advisor. The additional application form (see below) must be filled in completely before your application will be considered.

Rule #2: You may glance at my bassist in my presence so long as your glance remains above his neck. If you cannot keep your eyes or hands off my bassist’s body when I am around, I will remove them for you.

Rule #3: Once you have gone out with my bassist, you will date no one else until he is finished with you. If you make him cry, I will make you cry.

Rule #4: My bassist is a gentleman. He will return a gentleman. Otherwise you will be deceased.

Rule #5: Understand that he is my Baby Brother Bassist, and I take this responsibility VERY seriously. If I suspect anything, you will disappear.

Rule #6: On all issues related to my Baby Brother Bassist, I am the all-knowing, merciless Goddess of your universe (see Rule #5). You have one chance to make a good impression and be allowed to continue to date my Baby Brother Bassist.

**  
Application to Date my Baby Brother Bassist:

Name ____

Girl/Boy Scout Rank _____

Natural hair color _____

Current hair color _____

List all names under which I can access your social media where you might post personal info and pictures _____

Complete the following sentences:

When I look at John, the first thing I think is ___

When I look at John, the first thing I see/notice is ____

If I were shot, the last place on my body I would want wounded is _____

If I were to have a broken bone, the last bone I would want broken is _____

The one thing I hope this application does not ask me about is _____

In one sentence, why should let you date my Baby Brother Bassist? _____

Any special skills related to the position of dating my Baby Brother Bassist? (be VERY careful with your answer) _____

“I understand that by signing this application, I agree to a background check and psychological/magical exam and/or torture. I swear that the information supplied above is true and correct” _____(signature)

Thank you for your interest. Do not forget to attach the required letters of recommendation. Please allow 4-6 months for processing.


	6. Death On Two Legs (1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Slayer and her boys are attempting to get some recording done, but trouble follows them everywhere they go. This time trouble's name is Spike, and his intentions are unclear...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So many thanks to MacandLacy for letting me play in their sandbox here! The joy of tossing Queen into the Buffyverse is very real. Although this chapter is pretty clean apart from language and allusions to past adventures, this adventure is going to get _seriously_ smutty. If you have a problem with Freddie Mercury fucking vampires, run. Run now while you still can. It's only going to get worse.

There’s always one.

When a wildly successful band tries to take a bit of time somewhere out of the public eye to record an album in relative peace (relative being the operative term here, considering that recording a decent rock album is barely controlled chaos at best) at least one rabid superfan or wannabe-groupie will figure out where they are, no matter how well they’ve tried to cover their tracks, and proceed to stalk the shit out of them. When the drummer for the band in question also happens to be the Slayer, things automatically become more complicated, not to mention far weirder.

Things had been going very well for Queen lately. Their latest tour had broken records, they’d all been writing songs while on the road, they had more than enough material and energy to dive straight into another album, and world travel had helped spread the word among the undead and other forces of evil: Rogerina the Slayer was not to be fucked with, nor were her loyal bandmates. All plots for an impending apocalypse were indefinitely on hold. And her drum solos kicked twelve flavours of ass.

They’d been easily able to afford to rent a beautiful Georgian manor house out in the middle of nowhere’ s arsehole , the  local landscape of old, tangled forest and open, damp, moors giving the place a wonderful atmosphere, like something from a novel by one of the Bronte sisters,  but with better upkeep and catering, and an entire wing transformed into studio space. As he’d traipsed up the grand front stairs, Freddie had proclaimed that the massive house and its sprawling grounds were now renamed “Buckingham Palace”.

“After all, darlings,” he’d cooed, “That _is_ where the Queen lives!” 

Rogerina had nearly sent him sprawling with a hearty slap on the back.

“Well Freds, you’re the biggest Queen I’ve ever met, that’s for damn sure! In fact if you’re here, are you sure we shouldn’t be calling it Fuckingham Palace? Or have you left all your boy toys back in London? And New York, and Tokyo, and ...” Freddie punched her in the arm.

“You’re just jealous because I manage to pull all the prettiest boys!” 

“That’s so not fair, and you know it, ‘cause all the prettiest boys are fucking gay!”

“So? Not _my_ fault, love!”

“Yes it bloody fucking well is!”

Rogerina playfully flung herself at the obscenely self-satisfied frontman, setting off one of their impromptu sessions of sparring and/or attempted murder.  John and Brian, each lugging their own body weight in equipment that they deemed too precious to allow mere movers to handle simply glared at where the rest of their band, and humanity’s defense form the Forces of Darkness were grappling among the hydrangeas. 

“The world is doomed,” muttered Brian.

 

 

It was about two weeks after their arrival when they each began to notice the rather incongruous figure who seemed to turn up in the background of anywhere any of them went. Rogerina was, of course, the first to notice him. At least she was pretty sure it was a him. It was hard to tell, when all she could really make out was a slim human(ish) form, dressed entirely in black under a black leather trenchcoat, who only stood out from the darkest corner of the local village pub because of the pale face and short, white-blond hair glimmering in the shadows. That, and the way her Slayer senses had picked up the definite feeling of being watched, and how when she’d glanced back, she’d felt an incredible jolt of both malevolence and lust from the pale eyes staring steadily over a glass of cheap American bourbon. Shit. This one was _not_ just another human fanboy. She’d jabbed the others under the table with a sharp ended fingernail, given their universal gesture meaning that they needed to get the fuck out of there NOW, and had left on high alert, gripping the miniature crossbow strapped under her hot pink leather jacket. The rest of the band knew not to argue; anything that could unnerve Rogerina enough for her to leave behind an unfinished pint was serious business indeed.

 

Back at The Palace, they had gathered directly in the library, which Brian, as Rogerina’s Watcher, had immediately claimed as his base of operations upon moving in, and had discreetly supplimented with certain priceless tomes of magic, folklore, demonology, and advanced mathematics, as well as an impressive collection of bladed weapons from around the world, spellcasting essentials, and an array of technology that only he and Deaky fully understood. Rogerina and Freddie had followed the two technomancers into their lair, after each snaring a bottle of something strong from the kitchen. Whatever Freddie had chosen was fizzy and pink. Unfortunately, only Rogerina had seen the stranger, and she hadn’t had a clear enough look for a definite identification.

“I’d actually say vampire,” she said, after half an hour of debate, possibilities ranging from Deaky’s theory of an occult obsessed serial killer, to Freddie’s preferred Lovecraftian alien hybrid theory, obviously using that long coat to hide the tentacles.

“Except that I’ve never felt that kind of power coming off a regular vamp before. It was like super-intense vamp vibes. Condensed vampire. Concentrated, kind of like orange juice. And I don’t know how else to put it, but it felt like a hate-fuck when I looked straight at him. At least I think it was a him.” Rogerina frowned as Freddie laughed out loud, spraying Deaky with sticky pink.

“So an intense, androgynous vampire hate-fuck, that’s also kind of like juice? Sounds like fun! Where do I sign up?”

“Never mind that, what the fuck _is_ this sticky pink shit you spat all over me, and will I need turpentine to get it out of my hair, you wanker?” John grabbed the sleeve of Freddie’s shirt and attempted to use it to towel off his face and hair, earning a shove. He returned it with viciously aimed rib-tickling as interest, causing Freddie to curl into a fetal position, howling in his impressive upper register. Curious, Rog swiped the mysterious pink bottle from his unresisting hand and took a deep drink from it, which she swiftly sprayed, choking, right back in Freddie’s direction.

“What in gay hell _is_ this, Freds?”

At this moment Brian looked up from where he’d been furiously tapping away at his iPad, and cleared his throat.

“Fuck about all you like, but I’m afraid we might have a serious problem here, ladies. Rog,” he handed her the tablet, “do any of these pics look like who or whatever you saw in the pub tonight?”

The Slayer scanned the screen, which was filled with everything from professionally posed portraits to blurred surveilance camera photos of the same young man – er, vampire. Freddie leaned in to get a look over her shoulder and gave a low whistle, as he snatched back his bottle of pink death.

“Well, dead or alive, this one is a right proper snack!”

Rogerina had to agree with him. The vampire in the photos had obviously been somewhere in his 20’s when he’s been turned, was not terribly tall, and had the slender but sculpted build of a dancer or martial artist, made obvious by his habit of wearing very tight fitting clothes, all in black, or just very tight black jeans in some of the posed photos. His skin was translucently pale, even for a vampire, emphasised by ice blue eyes, bleached blond hair, and the contrast of black leather. His face was serious and brooding, when not marred by the wrinkling, fangs, and primal fury of feeding, with pouty lips, knife-edge cheekbones and an equally sharp jawline. This vamp was a total hottie. _Concentrate, girlfriend! Was it him, or do you just want it to be ‘cause he’s so damn pretty?_ Finally Rogerina shook her head.

“Sorry, Bri, I’m really not sure. I mean he _looks_ like the one, but it was so dark in there, and I wasn’t wearing my contacts, so...”

“Fuck!” Brian took back his iPad and started pacing in front of the couch where the others were sprawled. “This shouldn’t be possible, but if it is... How in Hell’s name would he... No, couldn’t be... Should be impossible, but...”

“But darling, we do the impossible every Tuesday, at least!” said Freddie. “Why not share what this is all about?”

“I’d rather be sure before I alarm everyone.” They could almost hear John’s eyes rolling at this one.

“Right. Because Rog getting spooked over some bloke in a pub, you pacing around and talking about the impossible kind of trouble, and whatever the fuck Fred’s drinking isn’t all alarming enough. Pardon me while I light the house on fire.”

“Listen, all I want to say right now is that we may have a more dangerous sort of stalker than most bands get,” said Brian with a deep sigh, tangling his hands deep in his voluminious curls. “In fact he may even be much more dangerous than the type that we’re used to, so I want everybody to be on high alert. Which means you two stop drinking.” The Watcher’s Death Glare turned on Rogerina and Freddie was enough to convince them to slowly lower their bottles. “Freddie, the cats are all in for the night, aren’t they?” Freddie nodded curtly.

“Of course! I had my little darlings in and fed before we went out!”

“Good.” Brian turned to John next. “How much can you upgrade our exterior security from inside the house?”

“I can fine tune a few things, turn on a few extra alarms. But to really beef it up I’d need to add more hardware, or at least do some tinkering with what we’ve got out there.”

“Right.” Brian nodded firmly. “That can wait until the morning then. I’ll do what I can from here, adding onto the protections and wards I’ve already cast on this place. You guys, erm, might want to stay out of here while I’m working on that. It’s going to get a little dark.”

The other three glanced at each other warily. When a man who has put a protective curse on his guitar so that anyone else who tries to play it without permission has their genitalia immediately catch fire calls some spellwork “a little dark”, there is reason for concern.

“Rog, Fred, while we’re working on security, I need you two to do a sweep of this entire place.” Brian waved an arm toward a wall rack full of swords, polearms, a variety of knives, daggers, throwing axes, and something that he had assured them was called a “hunga-munga”.“Arm up, and I mean lethal. Search the house from top to bottom, and make sure all doors and windows are securely locked. Anyone we don’t know in here, bring in alive if you can.”

“So, uh, this might be a dumb question,” said Rogerina, taking down a favourite axe from the wall, “but this means that recording’s on hold for tomorrow, right?”

 

 

Following the minor excitement of their security upgrade, which had included a fun but fruitless armed search of the entire Palace for midnight intruders, delighting the cats and terrifying the staff, life settled back into an uneasy status quo. They recorded during the day, while Rogerina and Freddie spent at least a few hours patrolling outside the Palace grounds every night.

“I wish Bri’d just _tell_ us what we’re patrolling for, apart from some hot vamp,” griped Rog one night, while she and Freddie were sharing a forbidden cigarette in a nearby cemetery.

“Right?” Freddie took a deep drag, then jetted smoke from his nostrils like an elegant dragon. “I mean, the only threat I can see from those pics is of getting _very_ seriously laid! And I’m not even really that into vampires! But of course, I’m always willing to try new things, darling.”

“And don’t we all know it! I mean, that was one fuckable vamp. And this is the fucking Slayer talking here!” She snatched the smoke from Freddie, and took a drag of her own. “Y’think Bri’s still got his problem about sex with non-humans ever since his little... incident?” Freddie giggled.

“I suppose almost dying of fish-clap might make a guy sort of bitter... “ Rogerina began to giggle and choke at the same time.

“ _FISH-CLAP!_ ” She sputtered a moment, then caught her breath. “Freds, you’ve got a way with words.” They’d covered for Brian’s near-fatal illness on a previous American tour by claiming he’d contracted Hepatitis and sepsis in an infected cut on his arm from badly treated water somewhere in Michigan, when he’d actually caught a strain of piscine gonorrhoea that was extremely rare and virulent in humans from a fling with a California mermaid. He’d been set against intimate relations with anyone other than humans ever since. “Think you can fit ‘fish-clap’ into a song somehow?” Freddie grabbed back the cigarette with the greed of a recently ex-smoker.

“I’ll see what I can do, love. How the fuck do you shag a mermaid, anyway? I mean, where is your dick supposed to go?”

“I’ve always wondered that too...” mused Rog. A pleasant male voice with a cockney accent spoke from the shadows of a nearby crypt.

“Oh, well, with mermaid shagging, y’see, the trick is...”

Rogerina and Freddie shared a glance, then were on their feet, bolting for the crypt, stakes in hand. It was, of course, empty when they got there. Above the moonlit moor rang a chorus of “ **FUUUUUCK!** ” in perfect harmony. 

 

 

A fter this incident, no matter where any band member went (always in pairs, for safety), they would see a dark figure in the shadows, just far enough away to make identification doubtful  and capture impossible , or hear a taunting cockney accent making double entendres, singing their songs surprisingly well, or, to Brian’s confusion and consternation, repeating the words “fish-clap”.  In spite of the annoyance, they still seemed to be protected while on the grounds of The Palace, though Freddie no longer allowed the cats outside. 

“I will not expose my precious, fuzzy, children to some nameless supernatural menace that you refuse to even give us the full dish on!” He had explained this to Brian while cuddling Delilah and Tiffany close, one in each arm, nuzzling his face between their ears. “By the way, how on earth would this menace have ever even _heard_ the phrase ‘fish-clap’? Do you think it can read minds?” Freddie had quietly relished the shade of red Brian’s face had turned. It was the over-cautious Watcher’s fault that none of them had gotten laid in weeks, after all. 

“To be honest, if it’s who I think it is, I haven’t a clue what he’s capable of by now, Fred. But I know he’s killed Slayers, and he was a weaker being than he is now when he did it. Now if you and your babies will excuse me.” 

Brian wandered into the library, tired and disheartened. The album was going well enough, but the sense of supernatural threat hanging over their heads was beginning to wear on them all. Even patient, long suffering John was becoming fiercely sarcastic about the need to stay mostly indoors, and to travel with an escort. Brian needed to truly relax, and allow his overclocked brain to cool off for a while. Over in a corner, among a strange variety of  polearms, surveying equipment, and decidedly unnatural looking bones propped against the wall, he found what he needed. His favourite refracting telescope. It had been dark for a half-hour now, and the stone flagged terrace just outside the library would be a perfect spot to commune with the universe in peace for a while. Outside the air was cool, with just a hint of autumn, and instead of arguing, bitching bandmates, only the sounds of the countryside accompanied him while he set up the tripod, and began to adjust various mirrors and lenses. The peace, of course, did not last long. A single footstep rang out from the opposite end of the terrace. Brian stood to his full, impressive height and stared down his visitor. 

Smaller in stature than Freddie, blonder than Rog, compact and threatening in a leather trench coat and black jeans. There was no doubt anymore who this was.

“Hullo Watcher.”  That damn cockney accent. _Stay calm, Bri, stay calm._

“What do you want, Spike?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo-hoo! Cliffhanger time! Bet you can't wait to see what happens next, right? ;D  
> I live for your comments and love - feed me!


End file.
